The MARVELous Life of Harry Potter
by Star-Scrap
Summary: Just a collection of a bunch of drabbles of Harry being in different relationships with different marvel characters. These are posted separately and may or may not be expanded on at any point in time. I'm always taking suggestions for the next one, so comment away!
1. Bruce & Harry: Shadows on the Walls

Natasha stared skeptically at the doctor sitting in front of her.

"Excuse me?"

"It's one condition, you fill it, and I'll come with you." Bruce stared her down with a blank expression.

His last few weeks in Calcutta had been stressful, the sickness was all around him, and he knew that if he didn't leave sooner or later, he was going to lose the one thing he fought so hard to protect. There was hardly any nutritional food for him to eat and the clothing and housing that he had procured did little to protect from the night chill. This was his chance to provide for a better life.

"... you know that I can't just approve it, I have to talk it through with my superiors." The agent was baffled at the request. The files had said nothing about this.

At Bruce's nod, she took out a small phone that she had stashed. Quickly pressing the speed dialer, the phone rang out.

It was a humorous sound in such a dark situation and Bruce had to stifle a laugh. Both of them in a run-down abandoned shack, wearing threadbare clothing, and nothing but the night sounds split by the happy jingle from the device.

From his seat, Bruce could hear some angry and probably rude noises from the phone. It was too muffled for him to hear, much to his dismay.

"He has a request, sir… yes I know, sir… no, sir… he wants to bring his little brother along, sir… that's what I said, sir… I know, and his file said nothing about it either… of course, sir."

She slammed the phone shut with more force than strictly necessary.

"He says that this will be allowed. Now, where is the boy?" Natasha seemed vaguely annoyed.

However, Bruce thought, she always seems mildly annoyed, so this wasn't such a shock.

"It's all right Harry, you can come out now."

A small body slid out of the shadows, quite literally appearing from nowhere. He looked malnourished and exhausted, bags forming under his eyes on impossibly pale skin.

Natasha immediately had her gun trained on the figure. She hadn't noticed any other presences in the house when she entered, and there had only been one heat signature from the doctor.

The boy immediately cringed and sank back towards the shadows. His reaction caused her to waver, her firearm sinking back down to her waist.

"It's all right, she won't harm you. You've watched her, do you really think that she will? She has a caring soul, even if she chooses to cover it with antagonistic layers." Bruce made an exaggerated face, causing the boy to giggle softly. "Natasha, I'd like you to meet Harry the Shadow-walker, my younger brother."


	2. Clint & Harry: Solitude

Somewhere between The Avengers and Captain America: The Winter Soldier

It had not been a good week for Clint. There had been nine different deployments, seven of them to other countries. Planes did not provide for adequate sleep, nor did moth eaten sheets on concrete flooring. The mental strain of sitting in the same position, maintaining constant vigilance, for hours on end wasn't helping much either. Plain and simple, he was exhausted, stressed out, and in need of a good long nap.

He had just arrived at the newly dubbed Avengers Tower at frightfully early hours in the morning when he received another phone call from SHEILD.

He glared at the screen until the last ring.

"What do you want?" he snapped, answering it just before the call went to voicemail.

The deep growl of the director's voice sounded over the line, "There's another mission with your name on it."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"And pray tell, why not?"

"... just no. okay? It was one of the requirements when I started this gig that I could turn down missions whenever I wanted. I've never used that privilege before, so let me use it now."

The line went dead immediately. Clint rolled his eyes at Fury's general pissiness.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Clint stripped down until he was naked. It was times like these that he adored Tony's abundance of overspending on what he normally considered frivolous things. He fell backward into the cool smooth sheets. They were like a balm upon his skin, a lullaby when he needed it the most.

With one last yawn, Clint wrapped himself around a pillow and passed out.

Light filtered through the drapes, dust on the breeze came spinning into the room. It had to just be dawn, that was not enough time to sleep after the crappy week he had. Clint moaned and rolled away from the light, burying his face into the nearest warm object.

There was an echoing moan from his side, alerting him another presence. He smiled sleepily, recognizing the familiar curves of the body he was wrapped around. He mumbled a greeting into the neck of his bed partner.

The muffled reply was frank, "Go the fuck back to sleep. Talk to you when we're rested."

That evening, Clint woke up alone. Had he imagined waking up? He should have been to soundly asleep to dream. He swiped his arm lazily across the bed, finding only the cold brought on by a night's fresh breeze. Immediate depression swept over him. He missed the feeling of having another person, someone he can relate to, by his side. The craving of companionship made his skin itch and his heart ache.

He sat, staring blankly at the wall in front of him until Jarvis' voice brought him out of his trance.

"Sir, there seems to be a disturbance in the kitchen. I cannot discern the source of it, however. There seems to be a problem that I cannot make sense of." The robotic voice startled Clint out of his stupor. He leapt up, throwing only a sheet around himself before racing to the kitchen. His speed propelled him around a corner where the first thing he saw was Tony, his armor wrapped up to his wrist. And the second thing he saw brought light into his eyes.

Laughing hysterically, he draped himself, and his sheet, over the shoulders of the figure sitting at the counter eating a bowl of cereal.

Kissing his forehead, Clint smiled. "I missed you this morning, babe."

Shrugging, the man kissed him soundly on the lips. "Technically it was this afternoon. I apologize."

Tony still had his repulsor, ready to be powered up at any moment, aimed at the couple. "So, what, you bring home a hot piece of British ass and don't bother even telling Jarvis about it? How did Jarvis not know anyway?"

The two-fold glare aimed his way made him flinch. "Harry is my husband. Now if you don't mind, I'm taking him back to bed." The venom in his voice was nothing to scoff at. Steering Harry back to his room, he tightened his embrace around the younger man.

It was such a relief to have his partner by his side once again. He was a balm to his exhausted soul. He soothed the anxiety that came along with his job, sharing the load of his stress. With both of them together, their pain was relieved and their troubles halved.

After collapsing and fully wrapping himself around his husband, Clint kissed Harry's neck softly and asked, "How did you avoid being caught by Jarvis anyway?"

"Magic."


	3. Luke & Harry: War Comes Calling

Harry held his breath as his feet shuffled forward onto the hardwood flooring. The jingle of the doors bell set his hair on end. Sudden noises still provoked that response in him, and he hated it. It was a leftover piece of worse times, times that he wanted desperately to forget. The war had ended only a few months ago. Clean-up had started smoothly, but slowly, as it progressed, some of the survivors started having flashbacks, their reactions put people in danger. On one notable occasion, a block of Diagon Alley was wiped off the face of the earth when a student who fought in the battle of Hogwarts had a reaction to a flashing green light. A muggle born ministry worker recognized the signs of PTSD, and suddenly, the community was hyper aware of the signs. The community came together for them, taking over their share of the work, trying to care for those who had suffered, finding therapists and clinics that could help them.

At that point, Harry tried his best to disguise what he was experiencing. He couldn't hide it thoroughly enough, however. Charlie Weasley approached him about it, saying that if he couldn't talk to a therapist about it, he should get out of the damage, away from the reminders, and to someone that he could talk to.

So, Harry went to New York. He went to his family.

Now, walking into Pop's barber shop, he wasn't too sure if this was the right move. He wasn't even too sure if he was welcome. He hadn't written ahead, he hadn't written in years. He couldn't, not without risking exposing his family.

But no, with five sets of eyes on him, he had no choice but to move forward.

His thoughts were interrupted by a grizzled voice, "You need a trim?"

"No, no cut. Just looking for someone." he murmured. He glanced at all of the faces, and not recognizing any of them peered from under his bangs and asked, "Is Carl here? Carl Lucas? I tracked him down to this place." his shoulders hunched forward, his too-large T-shirt swamping his frame.

The young eyes that had been trained on him turned away, but their ears were left wide open. The older man that had offered him a haircut raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "There ain't no Carl here. You might have the wrong place."

"Look, he's my brother. I'm just trying to find my brother."

Pops set down his razor and looked at him straight on. "Look, kid, I'm sorry, but there's no Carl here. I wish I could help."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But I tracked him to here. He has to be here." he murmured under his breath.

He jumped and spun around when the bell jingled for the second time. Harry knew right away that that was who he was looking for.

"Carl!" His posture relaxed and he darted forward to the stocky man.

"Luke?" questioned Pops. All Luke did in response was swing the young man up into an embrace. "Oh goodness, Harry, you look like hell." He placed him back on the ground, brushing his bangs back from his eyes. " Are you sure you're 19? You are tiny, man. I know mama taught you to eat better than that."

"It's been a rough few years." Harry's smile was vibrant, but worn thin.

Luke frowned briefly. Then, deciding it wasn't worth it to ask what was happening right then, he redirected his attention to Pops. "I hope you don't mind if I take the afternoon off?"

With a perpetually raised eyebrow, Pops waved them out the door.

Bobby threw in his two cents, "Those two related? Big black man and a skinny white kid. They make an interesting pair."


	4. Strike Team Delta

The helicarrier was hanging by a thread. After the battle (and shawarma), the avengers had regrouped and got transport back to the helicarrier. Bruce and Tony had immediately got onto the repair effort. Natasha and Clint had disappeared into the depths of the metal maze. And Steve? Well Steve was lost. He had nothing he could do, and the adrenalin was wearing off leaving his hands shaking and his mind wandering. That in turn led his body to wandering through the mobile fortress. Turning into a corridor in the underbelly, he heard laughter echoing. No one else on the ship had seemed much in the mood for laughing, and in his delirious curiosity, he approached the door.

"C'mon Harry, you in or not?" that was Natasha's voice. There was a lit of humor in her voice that he had never associated with her.

"And get cheated again?"

"The Hawkeye don't cheat. The Hawkeye may lie, the Hawkeye may steal-"

"-The Hawkeye may refer to himself in the third person-"

"-But the Hawkeye will not cheat."

"The Hawkeye can rest easy. I was referring to the Widow."

"Its blind man's bluff, Harry. How in the hell is she gonna cheat you at blind man's bluff?" another voice he recognized. But there was no way that was right. Fury had told them. Coulson was dead.

In his shock, he pushed the door all the way open in time to see four people at a table in the center of the room slap cards onto their foreheads. While they definitely noticed him, they continued uninterrupted. Steve's wandering mind couldn't help but notice that the cards on Clint and Harry's foreheads were disastrously low. Natasha's, as the previous conversation had suggested, was the highest of the bunch.

The one man that he didn't recognize at the table, a young man with messy hair and a scarred face, pulled out a necklace and dropped it on the center of the table. "Early 1600's relic. Charmed to tell what direction a clean source of water lies in."

Natasha looked considerate for a second before pulling an unreasonably large knife seemingly out of nowhere. "2007, Russian ambassador. He liked carving up his secretaries."

Clint grinned. "That was a fun mission." He pulled out what seemed to be a handgun. "I liberated this baby from a… I don't know what he was. Anywho, this is a matter compressor. Entertaining as fuck."

Coulson, who he still couldn't wrap his head around being there, leaned back. "He was a scientist, Clint. Former shield." the man fished around his pants pocket for a second before pulling out a pen.

Clint narrowed his eyes at Coulson. "That doesn't count as your bet. Has to be something that has saved your life or taken a life."

"I killed a priest with it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Coulson sheepishly shrugged.

"He was attempting to bomb his own church." Natasha cocked her head before nodding once.

Steve had taken a few steps towards the table, his curiosity ruling his tired mind. The players each gripped the card that had been secured to their heads.

Fury dramatically swept into the room, brushing Steve out of his way. "Strike team delta. Get your asses in the field. Harry, you're on clean up in the city. Do the most you can and attract the least attention. Barton accompany him, keep lookout. Romanoff, Coulson, help Hill in any way possible.

The four groaned, collected their bets and while Steve was distracted by Coulson and Natasha brushing past him, Clint and Harry mysteriously disappeared.

Within seconds, the room was empty except Fury and Steve.

"Are you waiting for an invitation, Rogers? Get to work."


	5. Harry & the Maximoffs: Rescue

Written for the fabulous Arkane291 who successfully answered that strike team delta was based on the movie The Losers with Chris Evans in it. That movie is one of those movies that I'm shamelessly addicted to and can watch over and over again while doing large art assignments.

Alright, so this one is Harry and Pietro and Wanda. I kind of fudged the introduction of the Maximoffs to be earlier in the timeline of the movieverse. Think more of the after credit scene that had them in it rather than Age of Ultron. Overall, I'm pretty happy with this piece.

As usual, requests can go in the comment section. I draw inspiration from requests, so if you want to see a particular short written, give me a prompt! I also am planning on continuing some of these shorts, so commenting is a good way to tell me what stories you want to see continued!

* * *

Pietro stared at the blank wall in front of him. Every one of the experimental subjects had been isolated, stuffed in a plain cell. "Accustomation to new influences" they called it. At first, he had thought that it was just that. A contained and observable place for them to get used to the serum that induced superpowers. And then the screams started. About a day after the injections had been finished, the cell to his left had seen a steady stream of men dressed in all white to match the walls. Every time a new scientist entered the room, the screams resumed.

From his right, he could hear the familiar sound of his sister answering scientists' questions, and whenever she got bored or stressed, a red glow would appear from beyond the wall of the cell.

And inevitably, the screams start up again.

* * *

A month into the "accustomation phase", Pietro heard the sound of footsteps approaching once again. The sound stopped 10 meters away, and in a practiced move, Pietro turned his face into his cot and brought his pillow over his head. This time, however, the screams never started.

* * *

Over the week, Pietro had been noticing small bursts of red originating in his sister's cell and exploring outward. They came infrequently (Wanda was obviously avoiding detection) and every time they came, it took longer for the red to disperse.

This time, however, the red never did. Instead of lingering and exploring, it darted for him. Pietro was paralyzed. Its impact was nothing less than violent, but Pietro couldn't be bothered to notice that. While his body was thrown across the room, his mind was torn from reality.

A small boy sat huddled in the center of a cot in a replication of Pietro's cell completely naked. The room smelled of cleaning materials, and in a puddle beneath the boy, soaking into the bed sheets, blood pooled. As various white figures streaked around the boy, he didn't move unless forced to. Every movement was far too fast for it to be reality, and every step left a ghost-like after image.

With slow and sure movements, Pietro moved to kneel next to the boy. His movement made no impact on his environment, the sheets did not crease beneath his legs and the ghost men walked right through him. He spent what felt like hours just sitting next to this child. As he watched, the men played with the body of the young man as if he were a rag doll. They cut, battered and abused him with no hesitation.

Pietro looked imploringly around the room for any sign of help. Instead, he found his sister, leaning on the glass window, peering in with intense focus. Their eye contact was short but no less intense than the situation called for.

When Wanda's eyes opened in shock, Pietro whipped back around to see that the boy was now staring at him. The boy's movements didn't have the same effect as any of the onlookers, but his mind was separated from his real boy in much the same way as Pietro and Wanda. It was almost a disturbing sight, to see the boy separated from his body, yet still habiting the same place. Pietro counted himself lucky that he hadn't yet seen his own body.

 _Are you going to hurt me too?_

The boy's question was frank, said in a dead voice and lacking of all inflection.

With a movement from Wanda, Pietro was thrown back into his body.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Pietro's thoughts still clung to the boy. His body was too thin, his hair had seemed to be falling out in chunks, his ribs were visible. Literally. Skin and muscle had been torn away in places so that bone was revealed. The boy haunted his thoughts and dreams. Wanda and he had been in bad places before, but never as bad as the boy, never torn apart or experimented on (well… not in such a clinically cold way).

Pietro knew that he had to get the boy out. His protective instincts were rearing their head. However, he had never been the planner, instead, following Wanda's lead and fighting for her safety along the way. Pietro simply had to wait for a chance to spirit the boy away from this place.

* * *

The sirens started suddenly. A simple yet shocking noise that had every soldier on the premises on their feet and preparing for battle. This, Pietro knew, was going to be his distraction. An event large enough to distract the entire base and get him out of his cell. It was frankly unexpected that such a perfect opportunity would appear so quickly. It had only been a few weeks since he had decided to free the boy, and he had almost resigned to engineering a distraction of his own.

He only had to wait for a few more minutes until Von Strucker stood in front of him. The man still carried an air of confidence even through the panic all around him.

"I trust you are eager to fight still?"

Pietro just smiled ferociously and nodded. He couldn't quite bring himself to speak to the man he had once trusted. Deception had never been his strong point, but Von Strucker in this very moment was desperate enough to overlook any signs of discomfort that were coming from Pietro. The baron scanned his hand on the glass panel and the entire window shimmered and disappeared. In a split second, Pietro was hovering at the shoulder of the man, waiting for him to do the same for Wanda.

Wanda seemed content to play word games with Von Strucker, and the process took slightly longer for her release. As soon as the glass rippled away, Pietro made his move. Wanda was left staring at Pietro standing above the crumpled body of the baron.

"We still need him to open the other cage." she hissed at him.

"He would not do it willingly anyway. What is the difference?"

With a judgemental stare, she grabbed the baron's arm and started dragging him to the third cage. To their surprise, the window was already retracted. The boy, however, was still sitting, unmoving in the center of the cell. The wounds that Pietro had observed earlier had healed over, and new ones open to replace them.

Wanda ordered "Grab the boy and me, take us outside as quickly as possible." the next thing she knew, she had been slung over Pietro's shoulder, the boy cradled in his arms, and the cool air whipping her hair around. Pietro laughed at her shocked expression.

"Fun, is it not? I have not been able to do so much running before!"

Wanda thwapped his chest. "Focus you fool. Safety for the boy comes first."

"I have an idea."

* * *

Clint was knocked head first into a snow drift.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" his question was forgotten as a silver blur made its way back to him.

"Sorry! Sorry. I am unused to the speed as of yet. I did not mean to knock you down. You are an avenger, yes? I recognize you." Pietro stumbled his way through the apology. He, very gingerly, set his sister down without disrupting the boy still cradle close to his chest. "Can you help us? Help the boy heal?" the look he got was a combination of 'I'm too old for this shit' and 'what the hell is going on here?' Pietro wilted a bit under the unwavering deadpan gaze.

Finally relenting with a heavy sigh, clint motioned the twins closer. "Show me the boy." Pietro started to unwind the boy from his shirt, but before he could completely reveal the boy, the avenger was there. He had grabbed the looseness of Pietro's scrub shirt and pressed it to the boy's wounds that had once again started freshly bleeding. "Jesus. When was this done to him? In the attack? Or earlier?"

"Earlier. Maybe a day, maybe weeks. He seems to heal well. I do not know what has been done to him."

"There's a jet northwest from here. Take him to it, stay with him, put pressure on his wounds. We'll end this battle as soon as possible."

* * *

Harry knew consciously that the pain had stopped, that he was safer know than before, but he didn't want to leave the sanctuary of his mind. He had found that he could ignore the pain by retreating to that particular meditation spot that wizards could access. He knew that after the changes that his new title of master of death had wrought, he could stay in that mindset for almost an infinite amount of time. After all the pain that he had gone through at the hands of hydras scientists, returning to the real world was frightening.

But, as usual, there came a time where he became far too curious to sit back and do nothing.

Hurtling back into the world was an experience in and of itself. The restrictions of a body weighed him down and left him winded, the sudden transformation of his senses from absorbing a world to only seeing part of one was jarring. His eyes remained firmly closed, but harry could hear monitors beeping and feel the starchiness of hospital sheets. The first thought that occurred to him was that hydra had no use for his unconscious body anymore and moved him. The fear that accompanied that thought was paralyzing, and before he could make the decision to once again retreat into his mind, a voice spoke to him.

"Little brother? Are you awake?"

It was if his mind's raging storms cleared in an instant. For him to have had such an instinctual reaction to the voice, they must have spoken to him constantly, soothing him even if his conscience wasn't there to notice it.

Harry's eyelids felt as if they were held down by a great force, but he fought that in order to see this man that had inspired such a reaction.

Pietro gasped as he, for the first time, saw beautifully green eyes peering at him from under heavy eyelashes. The boy that he had fought so hard for was finally awake, finally safe.

"Hello, little brother. I am glad you are conscious."


End file.
